


Two Left Feet

by Rainicornucopia



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dancing Lessons, Dialogue Heavy, Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Fluff, Jealousy, Out of Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 21:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4682087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainicornucopia/pseuds/Rainicornucopia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josephine Montilyet, with the help of Madam de Fer, enlist the assistance of three members of the Inquisition to teach a reluctant Lady Trevelyan the basics of dance, all in preparation for the Winter Palace. The only problem? One jealous apostate.</p>
<p>[Request fulfilled for ArishoksBride.</p>
<p>Implied Onesided!Cullen/Trevelyan, Onesided!Blackwall/Trevelyan, Onesided!IronBull/Trevelyan and one tiny mention of Josephine/Blackwall.</p>
<p>Potentially OOC]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Left Feet

The Inquisition's reputation was a far cry from that of the forces they had cobbled together in Haven. A friend to the common folk, and to the nobility, the ever-expanding Inquisition had even managed to placate the ire of the Chantry. Keeping up appearances and maintaining connections was a heavy burden, so, the last thing the Inquisition needed was for one of the Chantry Sisters or a visiting Diplomat to stray into Skyhold's gardens. Wherein the intruder would find the Inquisitor, who lay slumped on the grass, calling down the wrath of the Maker upon a jagged stone which dug into her thigh.

Andraste had surely forsaken the noblewoman, that Trevelyan was sure of, as she groaned, “Regret...” under her breath and hoisted herself from the floor.

“Darling, this simply will not do.” 

This was the...well, Trevelyan had lost count of how many times the First Enchanter had critiqued her form throughout the course of the morning, but the sting in the Inquisitor's posterior greatly surpassed that of Vivienne's chastisements.

“You are to make a grand entrance at the Winter Palace, in front of Empress Celene herself. It is perhaps the most anticipated soiree in all of Thedas, and if you were to stumble, then whatever would the nobility think of you, my dear?” the visible distress on the noblewoman's face was comical, as if plaid-weave had suddenly become the height of fashion in Orlais overnight.

“I am trying, Lady Vivienne.” the Inquisitor rubbed at the grass stains littering her trousers, reasoning that,“The illustrious Trevelyan family had little cause to teach a Circle mage anything beyond the basics of court etiquette.”

Confinement to the Circle meant that, originally, the Inquisitor's knowledge relating to the intricacies of courtly conduct was as watered down as the wine served in Skyhold's tavern. The only reason the noblewoman could claim to possess even half of her noble knowledge was due to Josephine's guidance, and speaking of the Antivan...

Josephine – the mastermind behind this woeful dance session – stood off to the side and nodded towards the Inquisitor with understanding.

“That is true, during our time in Haven you did mention your distaste of family gatherings, although – and I hope you do not mind me saying so - your aunt hosted the most fun parties! It is a shame you did not attend that many.” she gushed, scribbling a few notes onto her clipboard.

Trevelyan eyed the board with suspicion; if Josephine aimed to concoct some diplomatic argument, some persuasive tactic, to trick her into suffering the agony of yet more courtly training, then the Antivan would be sorely disappointed. Inviting the Venatori to tea would be a more successful venture.

“Are we thinking of the same lady, Josephine?” the Inquisitor asked, “I would sooner dance with a giant spider than attend another of Auntie's parties...although, perhaps attending one of her parties with such a guest wouldn't be so unappealing.”

After the horrors experienced in Adamant, it was certainly telling that the Inquisitor would prefer dancing - perhaps even battling a swarm of the creatures. Maker, even the Free Marches' annual cheese-rolling festival, or a Chantry sermon was a more appealing activity to the youngest Trevelyan.

“Please, no more spiders. It still pains me to remember the time it took to calm the Marquis DuRellion's wife in Haven...the screaming, oh, I thought it would never end.” Josephine shook her head, as if to discard the images from her memory.

Trevelyan faltered mid-twirl, stumbling over her own feet and landing face-first into the dirt once more.

It was a wonder the Antivan hadn't called on her training as a bard, to enact some revenge against Sera for that little trick.

Ah, Sera. Sera certainly knew how to offer a reprieve from the stresses of noble life; replacing Cullen's hair lotion with honey; placing inflated bags of air onto the seats of visiting nobles; drawing the occasional vulgar image onto the mirror of Vivienne's vanity. It was a pity her trickster companion couldn't find a way to break her out of these dance lessons...

...'A great pity indeed', Trevelyan thought, with the next words to leave Vivienne's mouth; “What you need, my dear, is a suitable dance partner.”

“Pardon?” the youngest mage asked, fully prepared to point out how ill-advised the idea was.

Her position of authority within Thedas meant she was already subject to crushing scrutiny, so the last thing she needed was for a group of gossiping nobles at Halamshiral to learn that she, the 'Herald of Andraste', who was – usually – poised and graceful, had accidentally maimed a civilian by tossing them into a rose bush.

“Oh! What a marvellous idea!” Josephine agreed.

'I think not, Josephine!' the Inquisitor was about to argue, but the positively luminous expression on her financial Advisor's face bade her pause.

“But...we do not have the time to call on our allies in Orlais, and most Fereldans are, how should I say, unfamiliar with Orlesian customs.” a thoughtful look flashed across Josephine's face, before suggesting, “Perhaps one of our companions?”

Vivienne crossed her arms, tapping her fingers in thought,“Our dear Commander will be attending the ball. He is quite respected, and considered to be a most eligible bachelor. I believe he would be more than suitable as a dance partner.” Trevelyan could have swore the First Enchanter deliberately emphasized 'eligible bachelor', but she was far too concerned with peeling herself from the floor again to care.

“Cullen does have more experience with Orlesians than most Fereldans, but we would do well to offer more options. Perhaps...Blackwall? He is a bit gruff, but quite well versed in politics, for a Grey Warden.” It seemed those flowers Blackwall left in Josephine's office had greatly improved the man's image in her eyes.

Trevelyan glanced from woman to woman. The pair were forgetting the most obvious candidate!

“Wouldn't Dorian be a better choice?” The Inquisitor asked, “our favourite Tevinter nobleman is as slick as the wax he uses to grease his hair. Perhaps he could even teach me to incorporate some magic into my dress. Orlesians are quite fond of sparkly things, if I'm not mistaken?” she spun with exaggerated finesse, but fortunately managed to stay upright this time.

“Darling, if the pair of you were to practice, we would be lucky if you memorized two steps before the ball.”

Alas, Varric would be out of the question too, in that case.

“You know us so well. If you disapprove of Dorian and I dancing, then perhaps Bull? He is Ben-Hassrath, and the Chantry Sisters certainly don't seem to mind his 'moves'.” the humour of the innuendo was lost on Vivienne – who prayed the Inquisitor would take these lessons seriously - but a tiny smile graced Josephine's face.

“Bull's dancing may be a little...exotic for this particular event, although, it would be a good idea to study a number of dances for future events.” Josephine conceded.

A splash of colour from the blooms of crystal grace planted in the gardens caught Trevelyan's eye, reminding her of one other partner she could suggest...but no, these dance lessons would likely be a debacle, and the plans were already set.

It would just take a little persuasion from her savvy companions to enlist the help of Cullen, Blackwall and Bull, then the embarrassing affair would be done with by the end of the day...

“I can help too.” a voice chimed in from a sudden puff of green smoke, which appeared before the startled women. A chorus of gasps and one lengthy warning later; Cole was officially barred from the gardens.

Trevelyan was simply grateful that the Enchanter's lecture had gifted her the perfect opportunity to escape into the kitchens for some much needed nourishment.

 

\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- 

 

Once the group had gathered in the gardens, Cullen was the first to take the reins. As Commander of the Inquisition's forces, Cullen's tactical knowledge made him the ideal partner to teach the Inquisitor the basics of footwork...if he ever worked up the courage to offer her his hand.

“I...um, Inquisitor” he cleared his throat “I've – we've, been informed that you are in need of training. I'll admit, this isn't quite what I expected, and I am afraid I won't be of much help, but I'll do what I can.” he ended his sentence with a militaristic nod, like those given to the troops or one of the Inquisition's many messengers.

“You've managed to whip all of our recruits into shape, I'm sure you can handle teaching one little mage to dance.” Trevelyan laid a comforting, and hopefully reassuring hand on the man's shoulder...

She also mustered all of her self control, so as to stop herself from running away with the exquisitely soft pelt under her hand. Honestly, she was leader of the Inquisition and received a pair of ridiculously uncomfortable, gemstone encrusted trousers, where was the fairness in this world?

Cullen's eyes shifted with uncertainty as he watched the Inquisitor glare at the top of his chest,“If there is one thing I have learned from my time in Fereldan's Circle and in Kirkwall, it is that I am not very skilled when it comes to keeping mages under control.” he then gave Trevelyan's hand a dubious glance, which held fast against his clothing.

“Well, consider yourself fortunate; if I trip and accidentally cast Winter's Grasp, you can call upon your Templar training. Blackwall and Bull won't be so lucky.”

“True enough.” Cullen agreed, releasing a wry laugh, and appearing much more at-ease as the tension in his brow vanished.

Bull chimed in from the sidelines with a, “That's cold, Boss.”

“Literally.” Trevelyan said simply, wincing at her own terrible pun but, nevertheless, grabbing the opportunity to clasp Cullen's hand in her own.

She hadn't the time to waste on dance lessons, when there were other, far more important matters to attend to. Like visiting her companions, to talk about the Fade...or...or...bake cookies! Or other such things.

“This is correct, isn't it?” she asked, oblivious to the Commander's nervous swallow and the flush overtaking his cheeks, as she gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Y-yes that's correct...well...shall we dance, Inquisitor?” He awaited her amused 'we shall', before gripping her hand in return.

He then followed her small curtsy with a bow of his own, and they began to dance.

Back and forwards they circled, repeating the steps of a basic, innocent, waltz, during which Cullen would recite the numbers '1...2...3' with each move they made. Every time Trevelyan stumbled, trod on his feet, or fell against him for balance, Cullen would reassure her with patient words of encouragement.

“How delightful.” Vivienne exclaimed, and “This is sweeter than Fereldan confectioneries.” Josephine wondered in awe. The sweet display elicited a number of appreciative comments from the two noblewomen on the sidelines, but the men sat opposite them – along with the elf who had just entered the gardens – were far from delighted.

 

\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- 

 

Solas wasn't one to keep himself informed of the daily goings-on in Skyhold, he didn't even care to attend the Inquisition's weekly game of Wicked Grace. He had simply searched – albeit high and low - for the Inquisitor, after finally reaching a breakthrough with the mysterious shards. It was understandable he would intended to inform the woman personally; as a mage herself, the Inquisitor possessed a keen interest in the arcane. Trevelyan would even deliberately seek him out, often simply to ask of his adventures into the Fade. The inquisitive nature of the human woman was unexpected, but something he came to relish.

The Inquisitor would have thought to ask him for guidance, surely? He was more than a pair of pointed ears, certainly, but the natural agility of elves was hardly a great secret. Had he, or had he not, possessed little to no knowledge of human politics, it was irrelevant; even Bull was there! A sight at which Solas couldn't stop his brows from lowering. 

Less thrilling still, was finding the Inquisitor in the embrace of their Fereldan companion. One of his hands intimately caressing the sides of her shapely waist and the other intertwined with her fingers.

Lurking in the shadows to watch events unfold was a wiser course of action, of that he knew, but leaving things as they were would only sour his mood further as the day went on. So, blithely ignoring the many pairs of eyes which watched his movements, he made his presence known.

“Inquisitor, if you'll pardon the interruption, I might offer whatever help I can give with your studies.” he greeted the pair with a small smile, but one which was confined to his lips only, for his eyes contained no glimmer of warmth.

The pair immediately stopped dancing, an expression of mild surprise etched onto both of their faces.

Bull, on the other hand, waved the elf towards himself and Blackwall, greeting him with a friendly, 'Solas!'. Despite the fact that he hadn't failed to notice the pointed stare, which Solas directed towards Cullen's hands.

“You dance, Solas?” Trevelyan asked with bewilderment.

It was always soothing for the noblewoman to visit the rotunda after a rough mission, to take in the murals and examine each little nook and cranny for any new additions to the piece.

Solas was certainly a skilled painter, but a dancer too? This would make the entire situation at hand infinitely more embarrassing.

“Of course, my travels have allowed me to learn much. They have gifted me a knowledge which extends far beyond magic. History, song, literature, and even dance. I have seen glimpses of it all in the Fade.” he explained with a tone of such delight, the Inquisitor herself was drawn into the dreamy euphoria.

The others had remained silent so far, but unable to contain her excitement any longer, Josephine enthusiastically cried, “This is so exciting! Please, do show us, Solas.”

He turned towards Trevelyan, looking at her expectantly, “Only if you are interested, Inquisitor.” the statement had a double meaning, and asked a question of which Solas himself was, perhaps, unaware.

Bull, who had been watching the exchange with interest, had originally intended to remain at the behest of Madam Vivienne – the Tamassran in human form - but, it looked like things were about to get interesting...

 

\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

 

Once Trevelyan had successfully completed a basic waltz – with only minimal injury to Cullen – it was advised by Lady Vivienne to proceed onto a more advanced partner; Blackwall. Unfortunately, the Grey Warden seemed even more reluctant to participate in the dance session than Cullen.

“My Lady, I can't say I don't appreciate the offer, but wouldn't other partners be more suitable? I'm not the man I once was.” the lines of age around his eyes appeared deeper than usual, like a physical manifestation of the weighty burdens of his past, which he carried, even now. Of course, the Inquisitor was unaware of this, the man he once – or still – was.

“Oh come now, Blackwall. There's still life in those old bones yet! Why, I bet you could woo a good few ladies at Halamshiral with that perfectly groomed beard of yours.” Trevelyan encouraged, sending a wink in his direction.

“Never was one for anythin' fancy, but a Grey Warden has an image to maintain, after all. Don't want people running off before I can conscript.”

Trevelyan bowed her head with understanding, reaching out her hand and exclaiming,“I don't want you running off before we can have our dance, so come, Blackwall!”

He spared one look at her hand, and with downcast expression he said, “You're an admirable woman, Inquisitor. You built all this, you don't need me to teach you how to dance, and a woman like you doesn't need the approval of some puffed up noble in the first place.” but surprise overtook him when Trevelyan cupped his hand in between her own.

“Tell the first part to our Commander.” She motioned towards the man, who sat wincing at his feet, “Cullen will be feeling that pain for days. So dance with me, Blackwall? I would really appreciate the help.”

“As long as you don't do to me, what you've done to him.”

A few more words of encouragement...or rather, false promises regarding his safety and/or personal health, and the noblewoman finally managed to convince the Grey Warden to dance.

Trevelyan immediately regretted her actions, in both persuading Blackwall to dance, and in eating a suspiciously grey bowl of mystery stew in the kitchens. This was a much more complicated dance than she and Cullen had undertaken, so much so that the noblewoman was forced to place all of her trust in Blackwall, when the man decided to spin her around like a rag-doll. She was even more disoriented than when she exited a Fade Step, particularly when the Grey Warden released her, letting her float across the grass. He circled her with finesse, catching her hand to pull her back in towards him, and finish the dance with a slight dip. The closeness between them was such that the Grey Warden's beard tickled her chin, bringing a smile to her face.

Josephine could scarcely contain her squeal of delight, and Solas, the grimace on his lips.

“As far as entertainment is concerned, if we were to present such a dance then I am concerned the Orlesians would prefer to find it in the frilly cakes and platters of cold meats.”

The comment raised more than a few brows, but Trevelyan's in particular. Solas wasn't the most agreeable elf in all of Thedas, but it was unusual for him to take issue with anything of such minor importance.

“They're Orlesians” deadpan, as if explaining the most obvious thing in the world, “they'd arm themselves with frilly cakes to battle if they could.” Blackwall explained.

A huff left Solas' lips, “The Inquisitor, and the mark on her hand, are symbols of the Inquisition, of all we stand for and for all that holds this world from slipping further into depravity. I simply suggest we teach the Inquisitor a dance befitting of her position.”

“What are you implying, Solas?”

“Nothing” the sarcastic bite to his tone was evident, “you need only retrace your steps to see for yourself.”

Sensing the growing tension, Bull interrupted, “Just hit each other. Get it out of your systems, while the Boss and I do our thing.” he said, taking Trevelyan's hand and leading her away from the bickering men.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Trevelyan sneaking a worried glance backwards, in the direction of one irate elf.

“Hold on, Bull” she stopped the large man in his tracks and returned to where Blackwall and Solas stood.

The most obvious solution to end their bickering was to offer Blackwall another dance, and so she did.

 

\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

 

The Inquisitor's third and final dance partner was Bull, so it was no surprise that Vivienne sat with an intrigued look on her face, whilst Josephine was on the edge of her seat, a gaping mouth throughout the whole of the affair.

Persuasion wasn't even necessary to entice Bull to dance, quite the opposite really; Trevelyan instinctively backed away from a twist of Bull's hips, catching Solas – who wore a sour expression – observing them from a distance.

“You need to feel the rhythm, Boss. Relax your body, let instinct do the rest.” He instructed, noticing the uncertainty in the woman's face.

“Instinct? Bull, my instincts are telling me to drop down on the floor, lest I cause any more injuries.” She looked over towards Blackwall, who cradled his bleeding nose in his hand. She knew she shouldn't have made those promises, in fact, she had just ended up causing more injury than if Blackwall and Solas actually exchanged blows.

Bull's bellowing laugh echoed around the walls of the gardens, “Have you seen this body? You're a powerful woman, but it'll take more than a bit of ice or other magic crap to hurt The Iron Bull. No offence.” he beat a hand against his sturdy chest for emphasis.

“None taken” Trevelyan rolled her eyes, but smiled nevertheless, “but you underestimate my destructive power. The damage I can inflict with magic is nothing compared to what I can do with these legs.” she mimicked her Qunari friend by patting her thighs.

“That so, Boss? I've seen what you can do with those magic fingers, very impressive, but let's get a demonstration of those legs of yours.”

The Inquisitor was caught between raising a brow or giggling at the suggestion, but fortunately she didn't have to decide on which course of action to take...

Solas had seen enough of this obscenity. The 'dance', if it could be called such, was wholly unsuitable dance for the Winter Palace.

He had to interject, but the tensing of his muscles informed Bull of his intentions, before he even had the chance to move.

“Hey, Solas, the Boss and I, we've got our hands full here.” Bull made his message quite clear when the palm of his hand dipped into the curve of the Inquisitor's spine.

The Qunari would be lying if he said he hadn't noticed the way the apostate's eyes lingered on the back of the Inquisitor's swaying hips during their dance, but there was more to it.

He saw through the tactical excuses the elf used to justify casting a barrier over the Inquisitor before battle, especially when the risk to his own well-being was so great.

Nevermind the frequent exchange of playful remarks between the Inquisitor and their resident Fade expert. This was nothing more than platonic to the eyes of the other members of the Inquisition, but Bull knew better. The Ben-Hassrath agent was no stranger to sweet words, ones often traded by lovers. Perhaps this was an opportunity to give them a little push in the right direction...and have some fun in the process.

Solas' head swiftly bobbed up and down, surveying the offending motion with distaste,“I was under the impression that this was a mission which required subtlety. Would you or would you not see the success of this mission placed in jeopardy over your own pride?”

“Who's to say the Orlesians wouldn't appreciate a bit of added entertainment? And we don't need to be subtle, we need them to notice us.” and Bull's dance moves were certainly noticeable.

“I must agree with Solas.” Cullen interrupted, “These dances are unnecessarily complex, it would be far more beneficial for the Inquisitor to master the basics. One mistake could cost us dearly.”

Blackwall shook his head, “Hasn't the lass got the basics down? She's battled a flaming darkspawn magister and survived, I think she can handle a dance floor full of Orlesians.”

“You have all done a fine job of teaching the Inquisitor” the compliment was genuine, but as was Solas' criticism to follow, “but if your goal was to impress the many dozens of people, all seeking to see the Inquisitor fail, then I believe we should ready ourselves for the disappointment to follow.”

“You think you could do any better?” Bull asked, equal parts baiting and genuine curiosity.

“Do I think I could dance any better than one taught under the Qun, someone whose thoughts are not even his own, and who has been mindlessly led to believe his only talent lies in battle and espionage?” Solas bit back.

“Agh, we've been over this. The Qun-”

At the point, the three women shared a look between themselves and completely drowned out the conversation, or one did, at least...

“Do you regret refusing the help of Dorian and Cole yet, Lady Vivienne?” Trevelyan asked, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

“Oh no, not at all, Darling. All of this bickering rivals the entertainment provided by the game itself.” crossing one leg over the other, the First Enchanter settled back into her seat.

“You can't be serious.” the noblewoman hadn't intended to snort with disbelieving laughter. She almost sounded like Sera.

“Madam Vivienne is being most serious, Inquisitor. Would you care to wager who you think will win this contest of pride?”

“Solas.” Trevelyan answered without a moment's hesitation, even though she hadn't the slightest clue of whatever this 'contest' was about.

“A most unusual choice.” Josephine scribbled another few notes down onto her clipboard.

“Oh come on.” Trevelyan turned her head in the direction of the outburst, catching the eye of Bull who shouted, “Boss! Would you dance with him already? This is giving me a headache.” across the grounds.

Trevelyan breathed a sigh of relief, basking in the silence with the trace of a smile on her lips, but the step she made towards her elven companion was hesitant.

 

\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

 

By the time her dance with Solas came around, Trevelyan couldn't help but self-consciously tug at her sleeves. Murky smudges of green painted the knees of her breeches, standing in stark contrast to the pale fabric, and she was painfully aware of the way in which her hair fell in unkempt strands around her face. She didn't even want to entertain the idea of what nightmarish creature her make-up had bled to resemble.

Trevelyan protested as was forcefully ushered into the centre of the garden by an impatient Josephine.

“Inquisitor, you look beautiful.” the statement caught the noblewoman off-guard, but the tender kiss, pressed to the back of her palm, left the woman utterly dumbfounded.

“You think I'm beautiful?” confusion, and a number of other emotions, bubbled in her abdomen, “I looked more alive during my trek through the Frostback mountains.” 

It could always be worse though, she thought. Her meddlesome companions could have forced her into some ridiculously extravagant dress for authenticity's sake – or whatever excuse they would use. The mage was accustomed to long robes, Maker knows she wore enough of them during her time in the Circle, but to dance in an outfit of that nature was another matter entirely. Her jewel and filth encrusted trousers were a welcome alternative, under the current circumstances...

Or maybe not, for in the next instant, Trevelyan stumbled and launched herself towards one very surprised elf.

“You are quite bad at this.” Solas chuckled, catching the sides of Trevelyan's arms and gently easing her back into a solid standing position.

His fingers lingered on her arms, but she made no move to remove them, even when they began to trace patterns on the thin fabric of her blouse.

“I spent most of my time during the Trevelyan family's highly anticipated parties at the buffet table. So, I may not be able to wow you with my dance, Solas, but bake me a tray of tiny pastries and watch in awe as I make them disappear in the blink of an eye.”

“An impressive talent indeed, Inquisitor, but you do yourself no credit. You are quite agile, as proven by your mastery over the Fade Step ability.” his fingers travelled down the length of her arms and gradually gravitated towards her hips.

“Using magic to carry yourself from A to B is a bit different than all of these complicated steps.” she pointed out, stepping into his hold to slip her arms behind his neck.

“Perhaps it is possible to combine the two?” Solas suggested, guiding the Inquisitor forward – then backwards – in a slow rhythm.

The curve of her hips fit snugly against his palms, a trait he used to his advantage; to guide her forwards, he brushed his thumbs against her lower abdomen. To guide her backwards, he dug his fingers into the backs of her thighs.

'Oh!' she squeaked in surprise, holding onto Solas' fingers for dear life as were sent spinning in separate directions.

They stood with their arms outstretched, leaning away from one another, until the elf pulled her arm like a whip, sending the Inquisitor hurtling back into his arms, his chest against her back.

Surprisingly, each twist and twirl she performed with ease...or, at the very least, less difficulty than before. That was, until she tripped over her own feet and the shrill creak of frost rang throughout the air...

Solas had suggested finding a way to combine dance and magic, and so she did, albeit to save her hide from falling to the floor. Instead, she rested against a wall of ice, which melted under the heat of her body and seeped into the fabric of her ensemble.

The others may have ran to her defence, had the Inquisitor's natural magnetism for danger not become so commonplace.

“That is not quite what I had in mind, but your ingenuity is something to be admired, in any case.” Solas slid one arm behind Trevelyan's back, creating a barrier between her body and the icy construct, feigning ambivalence even as the sleeve of his coat dampened and scratched against his skin.

“I do what I can. Now, if only we could find a way to implement this fool-proof, anti-falling plan in the Winter Palace.” the humour in her voice signalled that the woman wasn't entirely serious, but the little twitch in her brow suggested she wasn't about to abandon the idea either.

“Is that an invitation, Inquisitor?” he asked with an inquisitive tilt of his head.

“Certainly, but don't expect too much fun. I've already had to explain the necessity of battle-ready formal gear to Leliana on a number of occasions, but she still insists on trying to squeeze me into impractical, silky, shoes.” An offer which, under any other circumstance, the Inquisitor would be glad to take the Orlesian up on.

“An evening of courtly intrigue? A secret game of deceit and mystery, while the alcohol flows and forbidden liaisons are uncovered? It all sounds very exciting, I wouldn't miss it for the world.” 

“That's my favourite elven apostate.” the possessive pronoun was beyond unexpected, but even more-so was the way the woman dove forward, wrapping her legs around his waist. 

His hands lay against her back and - with surprising strength - he hoisted the noblewoman into the air and began to swirl on the spot. Her legs swung in the air, whilst the residual magicka coating her palms fell from her fingertips in falls, which circled around the pair like a vortex of light as they moved.

The flecks of luminous magicka floated into the vicinity of the long forgotten trio, who were forced to watch the silhouetted couple, bathed under the light of the setting sun.

As the dance between Trevelyan and Solas came to an end, so too did the hopes of the three men on the bench.

Trevelyan's face loomed over Solas'. The icy hues of his eyes, peppered with warmth, drank in the sight of her. Illuminated by the light of the setting-sun, her smile seemed to reflect the colours around them.

Lost in the intimacy of their moment, the world seemed cool from an outsider's perspective, and so schooled on the fatal flaw in their dance, it didn't take long before Cullen, Blackwall and Bull conceded defeat.

Solas cupped Trevelyan's face in the palm of one hand, the skin of her cheeks heating beneath them. His thumbs brushed gently over her cheekbones and she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes as a shaky sigh fell from her lips.

Looking out over the Inquisitor's shoulders, Solas saw the dejected expressions on the faces of three men – although the lopsided smirk Bull sent his way proved he wasn't as worse for wear as his brethren.

Trevelyan opened her eyes, turning her head in puzzlement and looking at him expectantly.

“Solas...?” she asked.

“Inquisitor.” he said firmly in response. A tone the Inquisitor perceived as doubt, but really, the elf was simply waiting for a moment of privacy.

It didn't take long for the former Ben-Hassrath to decipher the unspoken message Solas sent his way, and so with heavy hearts – and a one-eyed wink – the trio retired from the gardens to drink away their duress in the tavern...or more accurately, Blackwall and Bull did. Cullen returned to his office to stew over the pile of papers which had accumulated in his short absence.

“You are quite bad at this.” Trevelyan mocked, by mimicking his earlier words.

Solas arched a brow. Had the Inquisitor interpreted his silence as obliviousness? If so, she couldn't be more mistaken, which he proved to her by tilting her head back and captured her lips in a chaste kiss.

Only then did he realise their privacy was nothing more than an illusion, as an utterly exhilarated Josephine rushed – in as dignified a manner as possible - towards the exit of the gardens, holding a hand to her heart and calling 'Leliana!'.

Trevelyan's reaction wasn't much different; as the tips of her fingers, which touched her parted lips in surprise, were drawn away and replaced with another soft mouth upon her own, she was glad she stayed for this ridiculous dance lesson.

**Author's Note:**

> I have to apologise, since this isn't up to my usual standard. I hope it was an enjoyable read nonetheless! I may write a more romantic/smutty sequel to this (likely set during the Winter Palace) in the future.


End file.
